AN: Many thanks and a Butterbeer toast to Feluriana for giving me a lovely first review
This next chapter was a lot like The Return of the King (extended edition, naturally) – just when I thought it was finished, it really wasn't. A menace to write, but hopefully not to read – enjoy!
Chapter One
Inside the cavernous chamber – which resembled the hallway through which she'd come in its excessive use of black marble and uncomfortable-looking furniture – sat two men and one woman behind a long wooden table. The woman appeared to be in her mid-forties, with flawless skin the colour of that dark chocolate cocoa Tonks's mum was so fond of. The man on the right looked to be the youngest of the lot, with light brown hair and pale skin. He seemed oddly familiar, but she quickly forgot her attempt to place him when she locked eyes (or rather, eye) with the imposing figure sitting in the middle. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, Head Auror, was scribbling something on a piece of parchment, one beady eye fixed on it while the other stared openly at her. So Moody was doing the interviews after all; Miriam must've had a conniption at the sight of him.
Tonks paused just inside the door, unsure if she should take a seat in the empty chair opposite them. Were they ready for her or not? As if hearing her thoughts, Moody's head snapped up and his human eye narrowed.
"Well don't just stand there gawping, girl," he barked and Tonks stumbled across the room, smashing her elbow into the arm of the chair as she dropped into it. Moody raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on her ungainliness as he folded his parchment roughly and held it over his shoulder. The reception witch appeared behind him, snatched it up and left, winking at Tonks as she went.
"Nymphadora Tonks is it?" Moody said, once the door closed behind her.
"Just Tonks, sir," Tonks replied quickly. Better to get that part out of the way tout suite. The woman beside Moody made an amused sound and leaned back in her seat, reviewing Tonks over a pair of winged spectacles.
"So, you want to be an Auror?" Moody said, his magical eye remaining fixed on her as his human one roved over her paperwork.
No introductions then?
"Yes sir," Tonks replied, sitting up straighter her chair. She was ready for whatever they threw at her.
"Why?" asked Moody.
Not quite ready for that.
"What? I mean, excuse me?" she replied, confused.
Moody snorted, dropping his quill onto the desk. It sprang up almost immediately, and began to write on its own, moving much faster than Tonks's mind was. "Why do you want to be an Auror?"
"Well, it should be in my file – "
"I don't want to read it in your file, girl!" Moody said, both of his eyes now trained on her, "I want to hear it from you."
Tonks tried to breathe evenly, but having three pairs of eyes fixed on her was making her nervous. She suddenly had the utmost respect for any suspect who'd ever dared lie to Moody. And just what was that damn quill writing?
"Well, I want to make a difference in –"
"But why an auror?" the woman interrupted, crossing her arms, "there are plenty of less dangerous careers someone with your intelligence and skill could pursue. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, if you want to, shall we say, fight crime, or –" She paused, peering down at a parchment over her spectacles, "I see you took Care of Magical Creatures at NEWT level; why not apply to the RCMC?"
The tightness in Tonks's chest dissipated, being swiftly replaced by an altogether more bearable sensation: anger. What were they trying to do, get her to quit before she'd even started? She wasn't a quitter, and she wouldn't let them turn her into one. She was going to be an Auror, and that was that.
"I don't want to spend my days irritating centaurs and prosecuting werewolves who haven't hurt anyone," she said evenly, "I want to catch dark wizards and send them to Azkaban, where they belong. I want to help stop all the terror and prejudice and pure-blood bullshit they've been spreading since the days of You-Know-Who. Witches are witches and wizards are wizards, no matter who your parents are."
Silence descended, and Tonks chewed her lip. She'd gone too far, said too much (blimey, had she cursed in an interview? Forget Auror training – they'd lock her up in St. Mungo's). The pale man leaned forward, and she was grateful for an excuse to look away from Moody, turning to inspect him properly for the first time. He was younger than she had initially thought, perhaps not even thirty. A long, faint scar spread across his face, from right eyebrow to left cheek, as though something had slashed through the skin. She went rigid in her chair; she knew exactly who he was. His hair was much shorter, but it was definitely him.
Remus Lupin – youngest Auror to advance to a senior position in the squad in over two hundred years.
She had never seen him in person before, only in the black and white pictures of The Daily Prophet, hauling suspects out of Knockturn Alley or standing next to Moody at press briefings. His capture rate was remarkable for someone so young, and she wondered idly if Miriam had quoted his own stats at him. There were also rumours that he was also Harry Potter's guardian, but since no-one had set eyes on the boy since Halloween night '81 – Dumbledore's doing, her father thought – that was little more than hearsay.
He was taller than she'd imagined...and right now he was staring at her intently. She resisted the urge to scrub at her face with a scratchy sleeve – had she splattered ink on herself again?
Eventually, Lupin sat back in his seat again, his eyes twinkling."Now I know why you insisted on interviewing this one personally, Alastor."
Tonks tried to control her face, but her shock must have been obvious. Had Moody not interviewed the others after all? Was she the only one? Her heart began to pound, as though a bludger had replaced it and was hammering to escape her ribcage. Why would he want to interview her personally?
The Head Auror swivelled his head to stare at his colleague, apparently puzzled. Lupin smiled broadly, far more relaxed than anyone should be sitting that close to Moody. "She's exactly like you."
Tonks wasn't sure who seemed more offended by that statement; Moody or herself.
"Thank you for that incredibly insightful observation, Lupin," Moody gritted through clenched teeth, while the woman sniggered into her hand, "Can we proceed?"
Lupin held his hands up in mock surrender, but his expression remained playful. "So, Ms Tonks," he said, smiling brightly as he turned back to her, "what are your thoughts on the current regulations governing first-time offenders?"
She shouldn't have ordered the pea soup – it kept rocking the bowl from side to side, at one point even leaping from the spoon to bite her on the nose. Appetite gone, she shoved the bowl aside. On the opposite side of the table, her father chewed his last bite of pheasant pie, his translucent eyes concerned. Tonks sometimes wished she'd inherited his light blue irises rather than the trademark black ones she'd received from her mother's side of the family. She preferred to forget she was related to the whole psychotic lot of them.
"You still haven't told me what happened," Ted said after a few minutes, pouring them both another cup of tea. Tonks accepted the cup gratefully, nestling it between her hands. She still hadn't shaken the chill she'd acquired at the Ministry, and exhaustion was starting to set in.
"Because honestly, I don't know how it went," Tonks said.
And she didn't. After her disastrous opening, she'd managed to answer all of their questions with decent enough answers, somehow remembering all the facts, figures and examples she'd been squirreling away for months. Both Lupin and the woman – who she later learned was Mimsy Pickersgill, Wizard Rights Liason to the Auror Unit – had been openly impressed, while Moody had given the occasional harrumph, which appeared to be his version of approval. She even made them laugh at one point with an anecdote about goblins, ghouls, and a Muggle hair-dryer. But just as she had begun to breathe normally again, and allowed the sensation of triumph that had been steadily rising through her a little more freedom, the interview took a bewildering turn.
"You wrote in your application that you already possess advanced skills in Concealment and Disguise?" Mimsy Pickersgill looked doubtful, her eyes scanning Tonks's navy blue hair. "Do you mind me asking how you acquired these skills?"
Tonks responded by scrunching up her face and morphing into Pickersgill, inwardly delighting in the look of astonishment on the woman's face.
"You're a metamorphmagus," Pickersgill said, sliding her glasses up and down her nose, as though a different perspective might alter Tonks's appearance.
Noting gleefully that Moody looked impressed, Tonks slid her eyes sideways to check Lupin's reaction and abruptly felt her stomach plummet to somewhere very near her shoes. He was staring alright, but not at her; at Moody – who seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze – and although his face was impassive, fury positively radiated from him. Had she missed something while she was morphing? Or did Lupin have a problem with metamorphmagi? She'd endured more than a little mockery at Hogwarts – some gentle, some extremely vicious – but it seemed unlikely that Lupin had ever met one before now, considering how rare they were.
After a very long moment, the man in question turned to face her, resting his folded hands on the table. His knuckles were white, skin straining over the bone as the fingers of his right hand clenched his left.
"Tonks," he said, his voice quiet and deliberate, as though he was trying to reign in some emotion, "I didn't think about it at first, but it's a very unusual name, isn't it?"
Perhaps Lupin's special skill was confusing criminals with peculiar observations. "I think so," Tonks replied, shifting her appearance back to her previous one. "My dad's muggle-born."
"Ted Tonks?"
His tone was conversational, but his gaze on her was too fixed; too intense, and it looked as though he was having trouble swallowing. Even Pickersgill had finally torn her eyes away from Tonks to look at him askance.
"That's right," Tonks said, linking her fingers together to stop herself from fidgeting. She hoped this wasn't going where she thought it was…
"And your mother is Andromeda? Andromeda Black?"
This time her stomach made it well past her ankles, and possibly out of her body entirely. There it was; the association she'd tried so hard to avoid. Even though her aunt had changed her name when she married Rodolphus Lestrange, everyone remembered that she had been a Black. All the awful things Bellatrix had done – including torturing two Aurors to the point of insanity – would forever be linked to Tonks and her family. She stared at Moody's quill, hovering a few inches above his scarred wrist, and felt misery rise in her throat. They had never even considered accepting her, had they? They'd just dragged her in to gawk at her for their own amusement; Bellatrix Lestrange's niece, trying to fit in where she doesn't belong. How they must have laughed when they received her application.
She should have known, so many people had tried to warn her: her mother, her friends, even Professor Sprout had expressed concern over her choice to pursue a career as an Auror. Would the Auror squad trust her given the kind of family she stemmed from? Would they always be on the look-out for signs of pure-blood insanity?
She blinked hard, willing the tears to stay in until she could be alone. She wasn't about to fall apart in front of them.
"If this is about my mother's sister," she said, her voice unexpectedly steady, "I'd rather you just came out and said it, instead of wasting my time and your own. I don't appreciate being mocked."
Lupin's mouth twitched upwards, so quickly she wasn't even sure it had happened. "Actually, it's not. Your mother ran from her family and as good as painted a target across her back when she married your father. I have the utmost respect for her."
What? Tonks stared at him, but he said no more, leaning back in his chair again and gesturing for Moody to continue, which the old Auror did without hesitation.
"Right then, if –"
"Hang on," Tonks interrupted, barely able to hear her own voice over the pounding of her heartbeat, "You mean you don't care that Bellatrix is my aunt?"
Moody snorted loudly, which seemed to offend Mimsy Pickersgill, who shuddered and wrapped her robes more tightly around herself. "Considering how much the psychotic bitch hates your mother, I hadn't suspected you of being her protégé." He raised his eyebrows, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he asked, "Why, should I have?"
"No, sir," Tonks replied, unable to stop the smile that was threatening to split her cheeks open, "Definitely not."
Moody grunted and continued with a flurry of questions about her potion-making abilities, which she answered with renewed hope and vigour. But for the remaining ten minutes, she couldn't stop her eyes from flicking over Lupin's closed-off expression, and wondering why, even as she got up to leave, he could barely look at her.
"Nymphadora?" Her father was waving a hand in front of her face. "Anyone at home, luv?"
She shook her head like a wet dog, trying to dispel the memory. Dwelling on it certainly would not help; she'd get her answer from the Ministry in a few days. "Sorry Dad. What did you say?"
"I asked if you think it went well?"
His eyes were wide and blatantly hopeful. While her mother, Andromeda, had objected more than a little to her applying to the Auror Office, her father had been more excited about her interview than Tonks had. He'd never been the type to lose his appetite – even when he'd been laid up with elfin flu for three weeks the previous summer, he'd eaten at least two square meals a day – but last night he couldn't do more than push his food around his plate with his fork until her mother chastised him for reconstructing the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower out of roast potatoes.
"I don't know," Tonks said, "It's difficult to know what they're looking for, I suppose."
Ted made a noise of disbelief and waved his hand, as though dispelling a swarm of Nargles around his head. "Nonsense – nobody could be more qualified than my girl! You'll see."
"I don't know about that." Tonks grimaced, looking back into the fire. "According to Miriam you need a unanimous vote from the panel, and Lupin didn't seem to take to me at all."
"Remus Lupin was on the panel?"
She nodded and continued staring into the flames. She'd always found fire oddly comforting, which she supposed could be conceived as odd by other people, considering its destructive nature. But she often felt it was a little like her and her metamorphmagic abilities; chaotic but contained.
She was so engrossed in it that it was several moments before she realised her normally loquacious father had become suspiciously subdued. Tearing her eyes away from the orange glare, she found him staring intently at his cup, which was a rather boring off-white colour. She leaned forward and poked him on the arm.
"What is it?"
He looked up. "Hmm?"
"Why would it matter if Lupin was on the panel?"
Ted shrugged, picking up spoon and stirring the dregs in his cup. "It wouldn't. Shall we order dessert? I've heard the chocolate pudding is –"
"Dad, you're an awful liar," Tonks interrupted. She rested her forearms on the table. "Do you know something I don't?"
Ted sighed, sliding his cup and saucer away from his fidgeting hands. "It might be nothing –"
"Or it might be something?"
Ted smiled, or at least attempted to; his mouth seemed to resist the idea. "It's just that…well, Lupin... he might associate you with memories that are somewhat unpleasant." He cleared his throat, glancing behind him. "Extremely unpleasant, actually."
Tonks was even more confused. "How? I only met him today."
"I know, but…"
Ted scratched at his ear, more sombre than she could ever remember seeing him, and the next words out of his mouth explained why.
"Lupin was best friends with Lily and James Potter…and with Sirius."
No.
"I only met him – Remus – once or twice, when they were teenagers," her father continued, his words rushing together, as though if he paused he wouldn't be able to finish. "They were thick as thieves, the lot of them; always pulling pranks, sneaking around the castle at night, spending their weekends in detention. And after they graduated it was the same; they all went to live in Godric's Hollow, and when Sirius would come to visit us he'd have us in fits with his stories about run-ins with their neighbours and his and Remus's attempts to find Peter a girlfriend. But after Sirius, well, did what he did…" Here he did stop for a moment, closing his eyes briefly, as though the memory was excruciating for him, which Tonks knew it to be. "Remus, well, as far as I know he didn't have much family, aside from his parents, so…"
Tonks didn't need him to finish. She remembered the day they'd heard the news all too clearly, the day her world had shattered into tiny pieces that could never be Reparo-ed. Her cousin, the young man who made her laugh until tears streamed down her face, who secretly taught her how to ride a broom and brought her for ice-cream every time he visited was gone. And in his place was a stranger who betrayed his friends and murdered Muggles for sport – who chose darkness and death over life. He'd devastated her parents, and her, but she'd assumed they had taken the brunt of the agony; that all of Sirus's closest friends were now dead.
She wanted to kick herself. How had she not realised that if Lupin had been friends with James Potter, he must've known Sirius too? How had she not realised that Sirius was the one Lupin pictured when he looked at her, not Bellatrix? Just because she had promised herself long ago to never think of Sirius again, didn't mean that everyone else had. She wanted to faceplant into the pea soup, but decided that getting angry was a far more palatable option.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she said, her voice shaking as she glared at Ted, "Didn't you think I deserved to know that before I went in there?"
Ted looked stunned. "Your mother and I didn't think Lupin would be involved in the interview process," he whispered, "And we didn't want to upset you."
"Upset me?" Tonks could see the hags in the corner turn their heads curiously as her voice rose but she didn't care. She felt more nauseous than she'd ever been in her life – aside from the morning after she and Charlie Weasley had tried Firewhiskey for the first time – and with every moment the sensation was turning her insides more and more twisted and contorted.
What must Lupin think of her? Strutting in there, interviewing for a position in the squad that had locked up half her looney family must've looked incredible enough, but to think that he'd lost everything because of her cousin...he wouldn't want anything to do with her at all.
She'd always known she would have to prove herself to the Auror Office, considering her lineage, but had reasoned that it would be okay. Once they saw how dedicated she was, how talented at duelling and interrogating (she'd been practicing the former on her roommates and the latter on her owl, Benny), how convinced she was that this was the only thing she wanted to do with her life, they would have finally forgotten where she came from and accepted her as one of their own. But, how could she possibly prove herself to Lupin? She couldn't.
"It doesn't matter who you're related to, Dora," her father said, interrupting the commotion inside her head, "you were just a child when it happened."
"It'll matter to him!" Thinking back, she had a very vague memory of meeting Sirius's friends once, when she was about four or five; a group of witty and welcoming young men who'd reduced her to hysterics with their impressions of Hogwarts professors she would one day meet. We're like brothers, Sirius had told her later, more than Regulus has ever been to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for them.
He'd been so convincing, how could she have known it was all a lie; how could anyone? That he was possibly planning their deaths with You-Know-Who… She shook her head, driving the black-haired young man from her mind. He'd destroyed her happiness for a second time, and from behind bars! Shoving her chair back roughly so it scraped across the flagstone floor, she got to her feet.
"Where are you going?" Ted asked, rising also.
"I need some air." Tonks fastened her cloak around her shoulders, fingers fumbling over the clasp. "I'll see you at home."
He started to say something, but the words died on their way past his lips. Instead, he nodded and let her go.
The street outside the Leaky Cauldron was thronged with Muggle shoppers: groups of laughing teenagers strolled leisurely past haggard looking businesspeople, while families enjoying a day in the city milled around, investigating the infinite array of restaurants and ice-cream parlours. No-one spared a second glance for the navy-blue-haired girl with tears in her eyes.
Remus stared blankly at the pot labelled 'Stew of the Day.' It was apparently Guinness and Beef, but his nose told him a different story entirely, and this was really not the day to be trying horse meat for the first time. Instead, he chose a rather unusual-looking vegetable soup and mollified himself by taking three bread rolls, an obnoxiously large slice of chocolate cake and, as an afterthought, two small pears. Nodding to a wizard from Muggle Liaison Office, whose name he thought might be Woodbeard, he absentmindedly waved his wand over his food in a sequence of Poison Detection spells. He'd initially thought Moody overtly paranoid for doing it but now, after more than ten years as an Auror, it seemed completely sane. Speaking of his boss, he wondered when…
Just as that thought passed through his mind, he heard the – by now very familiar – thump thump thump approaching behind him. Clenching his jaw, he moved along the counter, pretending to inspect the battered-looking yoghurt pots.
"Nice to see you're sticking to a balanced diet."
Remus barely glanced at his boss. "Give me one good reason not to dump this over your head."
Moody gave a loud snort. "I'm not planning on washing my hair until Tuesday."
Rolling his eyes, Remus moved along again, popping a tea-bag into a small, magically refilling pot of water. "Would it honestly have killed you to warn me?"
The old Auror looked incensed. "I have warned you, at least three hundred times, never to eat food you haven't prepared yourself; minimises the likelihood of a dark wizard seasoning your carrots with one of the Undetectable –"
"Not that, Mad-Eye," Remus said, cutting off the beginnings of a lecture he'd heard far too many times over the years, "I meant about Nymphadora Tonks."
Moody paused, his magical eye spinning after a witch walked past a little too close to them, causing her to scuttle away as quickly as she could, sloshing coffee down her blouse.
"Did you think I wouldn't figure out who she was eventually?"
"Honestly I was surprised it took you so long," Moody replied, quirking an eyebrow. "I wanted you to make an unbiased opinion of her, lad. And you never would've agreed to an interview with her if you'd known."
"No, I certainly wouldn't have," Remus said, turning to search for a clean teacup – which were rarer than hen's teeth in this place – trying to keep his anger in check. He knew Moody hadn't meant to upset him – for all the man's tactlessness and general lack of sympathy for those who were not vigilant every waking minute, he knew what that Halloween night had done to Remus. He glanced back at his mentor, who was now examining a slice of apple and custard tart with as much suspicion as one would normally reserve for a vampire drooling beside one's neck. He loved a good prank – probably a lot more than the next person – but this one was now sailing very close to the wind.
Each year, Moody liked to throw in a fake applicant to the Auror programme, claiming it was in the interest of keeping them on their toes (Remus personally thought he enjoyed watching them dance for him). Sometimes it was obvious – such as the year a centaur had turned up for an interview and was horrified to learn that only witches and wizards could be accepted into the Auror force. Remus was glad he hadn't been on the panel that year; Savage had walked funny for a week after it.
Other years it had been less apparent – applicants who lied about their abilities or experience, and even a few who were Polyjuiced or using illusion charms; the most memorable of the latter being in '88, when Moody went in disguised as a seventeen-year-old Welsh girl named Alison. It had always been a bit of fun, a challenge, and often bets were taken on who would figure it out first. Remus didn't begrudge Moody his bit of fun – Merlin knew he didn't get to have much in his job. And even though he'd initially been furious with the man, he decided to just let it go.
"Well, the joke's up, you've had your fun," Remus said, "I should've known the decoy would be someone special this year, what with Harry starting at Hogwarts."
Surprisingly, Moody didn't respond, instead stomping silently after him, waiting a little too patiently while he paid the elf – a lovely, semi-toothless old lady named Minty – and following him to a table near the back of the room (Moody refused to sit beside windows or doorways).
"Where's the boy today?" Moody asked, reaching into his pocket and extracting a pocket sneakoscope. He frowned, prodded it with his wand and waited for a response, which did not happen.
"He's gone to the zoo with his aunt and uncle for Dudley's birthday." Remus grimaced, both at the thought and the taste of his soup. "He was not at all pleased that I had to work today, but I've promised to take him out for pizza tomorrow to recuperate."
Moody gave a harrumph and continued to poke at the sneakoscope with his wand, while Remus forced himself to take another swallow of soup. It was only four o'clock, but he felt as though he could happily fall asleep, face-down in his chocolate cake. Unfortunately, the stack of paperwork on his desk was rapidly growing upwards by the hour, and he still had to decide which of the new applicants he wanted to back. He dipped a bread roll into the mixture and chewed, mentally reviewing those he'd seen that morning. The Thistle kid seemed arrogant, but had first rate transfiguration skills; Spiffingbum had been extremely nervous, but confident in his abilities…
It was several moments before he realised Moody had put his trinket away and was staring at him. With both eyes.
"What?"
Moody cleared his throat. "She wasn't a joke applicant, lad."
Attempting to swallow at that particular moment was a bad idea; Remus choked on his mouthful of soup, coughing and spluttering as the salty mixture irritated his throat. Moody leapt to his feet, pulling a bezoar from his trouser pocket and seized him by the shoulder, ready to cram it into his mouth. Remus shoved him off, trying to steady his breathing as he gestured to his throat.
"I'm –" Cough "Fine –" Cough "Wrong way –"
Moody continued to hover, arms and legs spread in some kind of battle stance, bezoar held at shoulder height. Remus rolled his eyes and grabbed his cup, knocking back the contents and burning his tongue in the process. After a long minute, the old Auror finally accepted that he was not at Death's door, and returned to his seat.
"You're really trying hard to rattle me today," Remus said, giving a final cough as he poured himself a fresh cup of tea.
"Shocking news is no excuse for not chewing your food," Moody retorted, "If it was, I'd have died twenty times over during the war. Anyway," He crossed his arms over his broad chest "- back to the Tonks girl."
Remus stared at his old mentor for a second, before shaking his head and returning to his 'lunch'. "Enough, Alastor," he said, tearing his second bread roll in half, simply for something to do with his hands. Why wasn't Moody letting this go?
"I'm not pissing around with you here, lad," the older man said. "She's one of the best I've seen in a long time. I want her on the team."
A Jelly-Legs jinx from an eleven-year-old could've taken Remus down in the wake of that sentence. Moody was genuinely serious about this; he actually wanted her in the programme.
His first thought was that his boss had been replaced by an imposter, but they'd gone through the daily round of codewords and security questions that Moody insisted on that morning, and he'd passed them all.
His second thought was coercion; was Moody being blackmailed? That seemed about as likely as Severus Snape sending Remus a Christmas card.
So, that just left…
"No."
"Yes."
"You need a full house," Remus said, "three yes's from the panel –"
"Pickersgill has said yes already."
"Pickersgill is easily impressed. I haven't said yes, and I won't."
Moody inhaled deeply, blowing the air back out through his nostrils. "You're not seeing the bigger picture here, Lupin."
"No, that is exactly what I am seeing. Her whole family are as dark as their name. She's his cousin, for Merlin's sake!"
"I know who her family are. But it doesn't change the fact that she's the strongest applicant out of the whole lot – and she's a metamorphmagus."
Remus smirked, devoid of any mirth. "So, what, you want her on board so you can get one up over the Italian Auror Office? A more exotic magical being on the force?"
Moody growled low in his throat, his nostrils flaring. "You know me better than that, Lupin."
"I thought I did." Remus could hear his voice rising, but he didn't care. "I also assumed you gave a damn about my opinion; how wrong can one man be?"
Moody's fist slammed down on the table, upsetting the bowl of soup. Neither of them spared it a glance as congealed green mush slid slowly down the table leg. For a moment, Remus thought the other man was going to storm out – hopefully taking this insane conversation with him – but he remained where he was, seething silently. Remus watched him for a few seconds, then looked away towards the food counter again. Maybe he should've chosen the horse-meat stew after all; he was starving…
"You know I trust you more than most of the shiteheads in this place."
That he had not been expecting. He knew that Moody liked him, in his own particular way, but the older man detested emotional utterances and open displays of affection. Telling Remus he trusted him was akin to telling him he'd take an Unforgiveable for him. He felt a lump rise in his throat, and cleared it quickly.
"I know you do, Alastor," he said, softly, "So, please, trust me on this."
"I can't, lad." Moody said, "You're far too close to it; you're thinking emotionally, not logically."
"Yes I am, and I'll explain my logical reasons. Firstly, Andromeda was the one member of his family that Black was close to."
"Andromeda Tonks and her husband were cleared of all suspicion; you said yourself that she's made herself a target."
"Yes, but we've been wrong before. I thought Sirius had left the Black way of life when he ran away, and look what happened there. Who's to say Andromeda wasn't turned by him before he was locked up?"
"You were his friend; should I suspect you of plotting with the forces of darkness, too?"
Remus frowned, but continued. "Secondly, he was close to Nymphadora; he babysat her all the time. She might be out for revenge for his incarceration or –"
"You liked her for the job before you knew who she was," Moody interrupted.
"True, but I also liked Alison before I realised she was a middle-aged lunatic in stilettos," Remus retorted, "First impressions can be deceiving."
Moody bristled, his magical eye spinning every which way. "Don't say middle-aged too loud in here," he muttered, "They'll start after me to retire. As far as they all know, I'm still in my thirties."
"Alastor, no-one thinks you're in your thirties," Remus said, throwing up his hands, "I'm in my thirties."
The older man muttered something about looking young for his age and continued to glance around fervently.
"You know what you're asking of me with this?" Remus said. "You want me to teach and train someone who could potentially betray us?"
Moody surveyed him for a moment. "I've been at this a long time, lad; she's not the sort. And you know – better than most, I'd reckon – what prejudices and assumptions could do to a person."
That was a low-blow, and they both knew it. They rarely spoke about Remus's affliction, and never openly; it was all subtext and oral code – never write down anything that could ruin your life, Moody always said. Remus would be eternally grateful for the chance the man had granted him in the aftermath of the attack that changed his life, permanently. And while he didn't think this was the same sort of situation at all, it was obvious that Moody did. Things were more black and white in his head.
"You really do think she's different," Remus said. It wasn't a question, but Moody treated it as such anyway.
"I do. Come on, lad – you're supposed to be the optimist here! Shouldn't you be the one telling me to give her a chance, not the other way round?"
"Well, I guess I'm having an off day."
There was silence for several minutes.
"What was it?" Moody asked suddenly.
"Sorry?"
"That clued you in to who she was? You didn't remember the name – though how you could forget it is anyone's guess." His human eye narrowed. "Maybe you should go see a Healer, make sure you haven't been Obliviated without your knowing."
Remus chose to ignore that, not wanting to be the one to point out how often Alastor forgot where he'd left his favourite quill.
"It was the morphing. I remember seeing her do it once when she was a toddler, during the summer holidays after fifth year. It was a few weeks after, well, you know –" Moody nodded, "Sirius was minding her for the day and dragged me along – I suppose he thought it'd take my mind off of things, and in a way, I guess it worked; you couldn't exactly focus on much else when you had a screaming child on your hands. She was upset because her mother had forced her into some scratchy frock with these big pink rosebuds on it, and she hated it. We were debating changing her clothes, but that was around the time that that bloke from the Improper Use of Magic Office was ousted as a paedophile, and their nosy neighbour kept peering over the fence every ten minutes, so we didn't think it a good idea.
Anyway, we tried everything to distract her, but nothing worked. Sirius had a bright pink cushion over his face at this stage – I think he was trying to smother himself – and I was exhausted from the stress of the previous month, and I snapped. I told her that I found pink to be a rather fetching colour, and that I didn't know what she was complaining about, since I'd happily wear it. And then I nicked the cushion from Sirius and put it on top of my head, like a hat. She just blinked up at me for a minute, her big eyes full of tears, and then her hair suddenly turned bright pink. And for the rest of the afternoon, we had to walk around with pink cushions tied to our heads, or she'd start crying all over again."
He stopped, unsure why he'd shared that. Moody watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable, and when he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft.
"She's not him, Remus."
Despite the conversation they were having, Remus huffed in amusement.
"What?" Moody said.
"You used my first name. I wasn't sure you actually knew it."
Moody presented him with a glare that seemed distinctly half-hearted, and gave a low chuckle. "So, what do you say?"
"Honestly?" Remus sighed, wishing more than anything that Nymphadora Tonks had chosen a different career. "I don't know. How can I possibly decide this?"
"The decisions don't need to be in until Monday morning." Noting Remus's expression, Moody sighed and climbed heavily to his feet. "Just promise you'll think about it – really think about it – before you make your final choice."
"I promise."
"That's all I ask." Clapping Remus on the shoulder, he stomped off, pausing to bark at two witches for wearing robes that were too brightly coloured as he went. The younger wizard brightened for a moment as a mischievous thought struck him.
"Oh, Alastor?" The older man turned back, and Remus adopted a mock-serious expression. "Just so you know, you really shouldn't tell people when you're planning on washing your hair – you never know what they could put in the shampoo bottle."
The man's eyes bulged, and he all but sprinted from the room, no doubt anticipating the discovery of a dark wizard in his bathroom cabinet. Remus sniggered at the thought, but all too soon thoughts of his predicament drove every trace of humour from his face. Waving his wand to clean up the liquid vegetable gunge that was now creeping its way towards his shoes, he rested his chin on his other hand, and tried to think. It was no use. Bugger the pile of paperwork; he needed a stiff drink.
Wrapping his cake up in a napkin, he strode off in search of a bald-headed Auror with a penchant for Firewhiskey.